Horizons Await
by 0blivion
Summary: Hook with his crew plot their next voyage to bring down The Crocodile.


**A one-shot, inspired by nothing really. I kind of just rambled this up. Killian plotting his revenge on the shore of a land he visited after leaving Neverland 270 years after Milah's death. R&R? Be nice no shooting holes in my ship!**

**~o~**

On the far horizon, a spectral glow lit up the black waves washing into the horse-shoe shaped bay. Amid that pearly luminescence, the outline of a ghostly galleon (more commonly known as The Jolly Roger) rocking gently on the swell could just be discerned. A smaller craft made its way steadily towards the shore.

In the sparse settlements along the coast, candles would be extinguished as storm-hardened sailors and their wives turned away from the windows, whispering prayers against the haunted vessel, or denying its very existence.

The night was warm, the salty breeze licking the surf into a gentle symphony where it met the sand. Beyond the whisper of the waves, owls hooted in the trees that ran down to the shore, and the marram grass on the edge of the dunes rustled as if small things moved among it.

On the beach, looking out to sea, Killian stood with one hand resting on the hilt of his cutlass; a marvel in its own right. Intricately carved runes were embedded in the hilt, he'd gained it from one of his many pillages – the spoils of war so to speak not that it'd been much of a fight.

The wind rushed over the ocean ruffling his hair - dark and lustrous, it could almost have been mistaken for jet black. But the sultry hints of deep brown could be seen around the edges and in its wily shine. His breathing was calm, collected for once he was at ease. Despite the humidity, he wore his usual attire, a black leather tunic, similar trousers and a heavy looking overcoat similar to the cutlass the jacket bore a faded design of the same symbols engraved into the cutlass.

Killian's attention shifted from the horizon to the approaching vessel, his contemplative nature set alight by satisfaction as a long-forming pattern fell into place.

An ending was coming.

Squatting, baleful and brooding like one of the gargoyles on some of the cathedrals he'd once seen on his travels as a child, Peter Easton (East to the crew) drew patterns in the sand with one long finger, occasionally laughing humourlessly to him-self. On his shaved, pale head, the blue and black intersecting circle tattoos he had stood out starkly. He was the latest addition to their crew, one of the huntsman from the depths of Neverland.

"The years have turned slowly, but a change was always coming." Killian muttered his gaze fixed-head. "Nothing will be the same again."

The squatted figure didn't speak simply grunted in reply.

On Killian's other side, waiting like a statue of cold marble was Jackson his second-mate dressed in black robes, a black cap angled on his head and a trimmed grey beard that appeared to glow in the moonlight.

Killian was paying them no attention. The small craft sped across the chopping waves in complete silence; not even the constant rhythmic splashing of the six oarsmen could be heard. A lantern swung from a pole at the stern casting a faint glow reflected in the water as the boat continued its journey to shore. And there at the prow stood his first-mate William Rous, hands pressed flat against his stomach, unmoved by the undulations of the craft on the waves. A long, grey cloak swathed his body, the hood pulled back to reveal his dark hair which seemed to have a sheen like fine hardwood, black-streaked along the centre, and a fierce expression that was tinged with both triumph and the flush of violent passion. Behind him fumbling foolishly with his burgundy hat was Smee. _Fool._

When the boat reached the shore, the oarsmen jumped out into the white-licked surf and hauled it a little way up the sand. They'd be casting back in a little while anyway. William stepped out into the backwash and strode up the beach to Killian, Smee ambling awkwardly in his trail.

"I assume you've found what we hoped? The creatures of these lands have grown rather tiresome." The faint sibilance in the new arrival's voice echoed the sound of the sea.

Killian only nodded in response. "We are close. The Crocodile's fate hangs by but a mere thread. There is only a single matter which _demands_ out attention."

William's eyes narrowed. Within a few moments Killian had explained the information he'd learnt from his most recent expedition. Their findings had obtained them a scroll containing information of an ancient dagger. Something that would finally allow them to kill The Crocodile and end his life just as the beast had done Milah's.

"Then our next aim is clear, I suppose we set sail at dawn?" William asked with a note of irritation in his voice. Casting a supercilious eye at the emotionless figures stood and crouched at Killian's flanks.

"Indeed we do. We know as much of the coward. He is one man, as weak as the rest of them. . . He might've bested me once but it makes him no less of a coward. We sail for The Enchanted Forest at first light." His words were bitter however after nearly two hundred and seventy years bitterness was something he was used to.

He had often let his thoughts wander and seen how the smallest and seemingly most inconsequential matter could drastically change the pattern already in motion. Killian was resilient, driven by demons that no one else could ever understand. He wasn't going to rest until he had avenged Milah's death and finally put his heart and mind to rest. "I won't let this plan be thrown awry at this late stage." He added the last part tapping a finger on his lower lip in thought.

"Then let us ensure this _creature_ is destroyed. I would see him struck down, his body ripped open and his internal workings laid bare for the ravens to feast upon." A reason as to why he liked William was the blood-thirsty attitude that drove him, once his blood thirst took over nothing would stop the man. "And we'll cut him down in plain view, remind all of the horror that is magic."

"Indeed we shall." Killian pressed the tips of his fingers together and turned his attention to East, who still squatted like a beast beside them. "The crocodile took something from you too, your brother a man much like us."

The shaven-headed man gave a low, contemptuous growl that seemed to resonate from deep in his throat. Looking up at his Captain with hollow eyes, he nodded. "I will find him."

Killian pursed his lips. "Of course, for as your reputation is known . . . No quarry escapes you. Your brother could never be drive off course, pursuing his prey with the cold, relentless force of a winter storm. But you are better."

The comment was Peter's queue to finally stand, conversation was now closed and with a slight nod of his head the gathering moved back to the small craft still being lapped by the swash of the ocean. The oarsmen set about their task and heaved the boat back into the inky vastness and clambered back into their places. Gripping onto their oars the boat took off once more skimming through the water on its return voyage to the vessel that awaited its Captain and his cold-hearted revenge.

**~o~**

**So? Let me know what you thought of that oneshot. R&Rs would be highly appreciated. Free cookies for those of you who do.**


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